Everything's Not Lost
by Guiney-vere
Summary: Ch 4 is up! 2012, New York City... Rory, Tristan, and #3 - revealed : )
1. Getting to Know You

Everything's Not Lost

- Guinevere - 

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone or anything except where I do own someone or something.

A/N: Everything happened as we know it in Gilmoreland. I've set this story up, but don't expect a lot of Trory goodness, 'cause I'm not indulging, although there will be some of that. Get ready for a twist, 'cause it's coming. So we'll call this one a Trory with a twist. And without further adieu…

~*~

Ch One: Getting To Know You

Tristan DuGrey was on the C train and his stop, 72nd Street was next. He stood, grabbed the bar above his head and loosened the tie around his neck. Five more minutes and this day from hell would be over.

It all started with a call from his sister, who at nearly twenty years his senior, acted more like a mother than the stuck up older sister she embodied. She told him that their "beloved," or so she sarcastically called their father, was throwing a party this upcoming weekend in honor of the new baby on the way. And of course, he was inclined to ask, "Beth, are you pregnant again?" 

This would be her fifth, but her response shocked him more than he was expecting. "No," she replied with a sneer, "Bridget is." Tristan's jaw nearly dropped to the floor, for Bridget was his father's fourth, and hopefully final trophy wife. For a man who just qualified for Social Security on his last birthday, he sure loved to crank out those kids. This newest addition would be the third DuGrey child in as many years, and would bring the total to six.

"Well Beth, we all know what's been on his mind since our mother left him, now don't we?" That was all he could counter with, so soon then after he ended the call. What followed would put this news on the burner farthest from the front.

He was sitting in the weekly office meeting when in walked the senior partner, fresh from a vacation in the south of France, with the news that not only was his Deputy Senior Partner retiring from the profession, but he was not going to just hand the job directly over to his nephew, Tristan himself. No, Tristan and the nine other partners in the firm would have to show their skills and work for the position. 

Now his uncle Patrick was not one to step outside the family - the retiree was his own son who had earned quite enough money to live a life of luxury without employment and had dealt with enough crap from his father - so this was a first. Tristan had always known he was somewhat resented by Patrick, mostly because Patrick was the youngest of four brothers, Tristan's father being the oldest and by default, the most worshipped. But to do battle with nine of New York's finest lawyers just for the glorified gopher's position seemed hardly worth it. Nonetheless, he would have to, especially if he wanted to maintain his credibility both in the court and in the family.

Issue two hurdled over, Tristan was about to settle down behind his desk stacked with briefings when he noticed the first of a pile of phone calls to be returned. It seemed that his current girlfriend, of nearly three weeks, had called to say quote 'I hate you Tristan, goodbye' end quote. And below that read that his mother had called. Seven times. And just to the left of this pile was the two weeks notice from his secretary that claimed she did more work than her employer and therefore was going back to school so she could shove her work on someone else's desk.

Now surely, Tristan thought, this must be the end of the downward spiral that always, though not so thoroughly, consumed his Mondays. And things went pretty smoothly from then on, so much so that he conjured a smile from himself at the sight of a hard days work. But no, just to drive the nail in a tad further, his father called at precisely 4:50, just as Tristan was readying to go home for the night.

"Hi, Dad, congrats on the new baby," Tristan half-groaned he pleasantry.

"Why thank you son. Now Tristan, I trust Bethany informed you of the affair we are hosting this Friday?" Quincy DuGrey spoke to even his own son as though he were a business associate.

"Of course she did."

"Ah, lovely. I also wanted to ask that you bring a date and dress formally as we are going to combine the event with your cousin's retirement party. And Patrick has requested that you say a few words as you will be Crane's replacement."

"Actually, uncle Patrick has decided to give all the partners a chance at the job, instead of promoting me directly."

"Well then, I think I'll just have to have a chat with that brother of mine, now won't I?"

Tristan wanted to tell him 'Thanks but no thanks,' but his father would never listen to that. He would have been better off not saying anything at all. "I suppose. Now when should I arrive Saturday evening?"

"Now sooner than 5:30, no later than 6:15."

"Well, that may be a little difficult, Dad, seeing as New York traffic on the weekends is pretty horrendous."

"I trust that after living in that godforsaken city for over nine years that you have acquired at least some proficiency at driving in the city. I'll see you Saturday evening Tristan."

"See you then Dad." 

Tristan had hung up the phone and even now, thinking of the conversation made him tired. A cold shower, some of Rosalie's famous three meat pizza and a good night's sleep should do the trick, he thought to himself. The train eased to a stop and he lumbered out and up the stairs to the street where a refreshing breeze was coming from Central Park. He was tempted to drop his laptop and briefcase and go for a run, but thought better of it, preferring sleep to athletic exertion after the trying day he had just suffered through.

Two blocks North and Tristan was at the entry to his cluster of upscale apartments overlooking the Park. He nodded to Bill, the doorman, stepped into the elevator and pressed the number eleven. As he stepped into his landing, he noticed his neighbor's door was open and a fragrant aroma of something flowery mixed with coffee and the distinct smell of chocolate chip cookies was filling the tiny hall. Tristan considered knocking, but then remembered that Mrs. Gramaric had moved out three days ago and his new floor mate might not be so friendly.

He turned the knob and entered his apartment only to be slapped in the face by the same smell, only the coffee aspect was much stronger. Hard to believe he paid over three-thousand a month on his mortgage for a 4,000 square foot flat and was stuck with paper-thin walls. While pondering this he shrugged off his jacket and threw himself on his couch. He had just begun to doze when he heard a knock on the door. Tie now fully gone, shirt untucked and half-unbuttoned, Tristan made his way to the door. He looked through the peephole and only saw brown hair, so he opened.

"Hi," began the girl, no, woman who occupied is door frame. She was about his age, probably 5'9" with medium length brown hair held back by small black glasses and piercing blue eyes. She wore a navy hooded sweatshirt the read "Berkeley" and navy sweatpants and was holding a plate of, surprise surprise, cookies. Nevermind the fact that the residents of the Carolina Apartments rarely spoke to each other, let alone baked for each other, Tristan couldn't shake that this girl looked strikingly familiar.

She extended a hand toward Tristan and introduced herself simply as "You're new neighbor."

"I figured as much, seeing as I haven't laid eyes on you before now," Tristan replied, not overly forthcoming. He decided he sounded slightly rude, so he attempted again, "I'm Tristan, and you are?" He wasn't sure if he would like her answer, especially if she was one of his high school or college girlfriends.

"I'm L.L., but everyone calls me Rory." Now he pinpointed exactly who she was, and the exact date and time of their last meeting. This was the girl he had compared all other girls to for years, the ungettable "get" at Chilton. This was the Rory, or Mary as he had affectionately called her, that he fell in love with at first sight and never fully got over the rejection. And if she recognized or even had any idea of who he was, she was not letting on, so he decided, for now, he'd play her game.

"L.L.? Is that something like L.L.Bean? Or do the letters stand for something?"

"Actually, the L.L. in L.L.Bean stands for Leon Leonwood, and mine stands for Lorelai Leigh. It's my pen name."

"Are you a writer?" He instantly felt like an idiot at the question.

But she just smiled at his mistake. "Yeah, I freelance for a few women's magazines and I also write for the Washington Posts' New York division."

"Oh, wow. Well, I better get going, I've got a few phone calls to return," he wasn't sure where to take the conversation next, a rarity for him, so he provided an exit for himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry to keep you. I just wanted to introduce myself, give you these and invite you over to dinner, if you don't have anything else planned. I'm making some very gourmet Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, if you'd care to join me."

"Not much of a cook, are you? Don't worry, I'm not either," he had to admire her honesty, but he didn't think he should take her generosity for granted without her knowing his identity.

"No, my roomie's the chef, but he's away on assignment, so I've been left to my own devices. So, how about it?"

"Actually, it sounds great, but I think I should first ask you if you remember who I am."

"Should I? I don't think I remember meeting a Christian before, but it could have been at one of those horrible Yale society functions, so I might remember you with a memory jog or two."

"That's the problem there," he said as she mentioned that she heard him say 'Christian,' not 'Tristan'. "When I knew you, you were not as friendly and outgoing as you seem to be now, but that's kind of what college will do to you. Anyway, its 'Tristan,' not 'Christian,' as in Tristan DuGrey."

Rory covered her mouth as her eyes widened to take in his appearance. Whatever she said, he decided, would not affect this newfound friendship they had begun, and he wouldn't bring up any of those long buried feelings. "Wow, it really is you. I mean, You look different, but I guess the same. Wow. How are you?"

"I'm good, good. Military school will change a person; it gets rid of arrogance pretty quickly. Now how about that Mac and Cheese?"

"Sure, I mean, okay, come right in." 

And thus, the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

~*~

T. B. C. Please R & R


	2. Moving Cities

Everything's Not Lost

- Guinevere - 

A/N: Will ya'll let me know if they seem out of character? This is really fun, 'cause my characters can just ramble and it actually makes for a pretty good story. I promise things will pick up in the next few chapters. As always, please review to let me know what you like, what you don't and what you want to see/hear. Also, who do you think the mystery roommate is? : )

Disclaimer: I own everything except what I don't own, and if you're reading this, I hope you know which is which.

~*~

Ch Two: Moving Cities

"For some reason, I always thought that my apartment was unique, probably because my realtor convinced me of that, but now I see that every one is exactly the same," Tristan mentioned upon entering Rory's apartment. He had gone back inside his and changed into a pair of loose jeans and a grey Cheshire Academy t-shirt. 

Rory was standing over the stove in the kitchen, trying to figure out how to turn it on. "Uh, Tristan, do you know how to operate this thing?" she asked. Totally digital appliances were not the greatest invention, she decided.

Tristan came up be hind her, reached over her shoulder and explained, "Push 'power', then 'front right', then 'medium-to-high', and 'boil'. It took me two months to learn that."

"Well, you know, Chilton taught us Shakespeare and Rousseau, but they must have figured none of us would ever have to operate our own kitchen appliances." Rory turned now and took in the sight before her. The 'Cheshire' caught her eye. "Did you go there after military school?" 

"Well, that's a long story if I ever had a long story to tell. But I'll give you the condensed version. Basically I was locked up in the Carolinas for a year and a half, but after I graduate from there, pretty much no colleges wanted me, so I took a post-grad year at Cheshire. My father would have rather I gone straight to Kalamazoo College - seriously - but I wanted something a little better for myself. After Cheshire I got into Columbia and moved here. Cheshire was definitely the best year of my life, by far. Wow, did that just seem like a satisfied customer testimonial or what?"

"A little bit. Was it really that much different from Chilton?" Rory motioned for them to move to the couch while the water boiled.

"Oh yeah, so much different. No uniforms, although we had to dress up. No cell phones, no internet access after nine, great teachers, and it was a boarding school. Where I was a post-grad, they had decided before I even arrived that I had messed up in high school, so they knew what to do. Strict but not too strict. Cheshire was a healthy medium between Chilton and military school and that's what I needed."

"It sounds great. I have to agree, the only thing restricting about Chilton was those awful uniforms. But thanks to nostalgia, I've still got it, in one of these boxes somewhere," Rory motioned around the room that was filled with box after box labeled 'kitchen' and 'Rory's room'. 

"Is this all your stuff? No, wait, you said you had a roommate."

"Yeah, but he's in the Philippines doing something or other. He's a photojournalist for _National Geographic _exclusively, but he also works on the side for Gamma who sell him to _Newsweek_ and _Time._"

"Pretty cool. I may have read something by him; what's his name?"

"He's big on secret identities, Steppenwolf and all that about one person being a bunch of people being one person. Saying that, I've decided that he really does like to talk in circles. But anyway, he uses a different penname every time and I couldn't even begin to remember them all. He did, though, write the cover story last month on _Geographic_ about upper-class society as a down-trodden minority in Bolivia."

"I think I saw that, really good stuff. Anyway Rory, I think the water is boiling."

Rory jumped from her seat, "I totally forgot. I'll be right back." She made her way through the maze of boxes to the kitchen and poured two boxes of macaroni into the overly-rapid boiling water. She couldn't believe how surreal this was: Tristan DuGrey, sitting in her living room, about to eat macaroni and cheese. When had she seen him last? Ten years ago, Junior year when he ran out on their Romeo and Juliet skit. And they hadn't even been friends, but now they were behaving as such. Emotions were running through her head so fast she couldn't identify them. Better to let things go as they may, she decided.

"Hey Rory, I don't mean to be rude," Tristan interrupted her thoughts as he joined her again in the kitchen, "But, I mean, why did you move into this building?"

"It's so hard to find an empty apartment, I took the first one available. My roommate and I were looking to get out of Greenwich Village, so this was the most logical step. I mean, a couple of twenty-seven year old successful reporters living down there? It may be logical, yes, but when your boss wants to come to dinner, he may not be too thrilled by the transvestite down the hall or the two dads upstairs, you know what I mean?"

"Oh yeah, I lived in SoHo until five minutes after my Dad's car pulled up outside. I love it down there, but it's not exactly acceptable of one the Hartford DuGrey's."

"Exactly. And, of course, it helps that my grandmother just happened to be an old college friend of Mrs. Gramaric, your old neighbor. The minute she mentioned moving to the country, my grandmother set up the three-way calling and we were as good as sold."

"My Dad arranged everything for my apartment, all I had to do was sign on the dotted line. I know, that makes me sound rich and arrogant, but I truly would have never moved uptown, though I'm now glad I did. Hey, those look done," he motioned toward the pot on the stove, then moved to drain it in the sink. He put in the ingredients and mixed them while Rory found two bowls, two spoons and two glasses and cleared a place at the table.

"The dinner of champions is served," Tristan exclaimed as he set the bowls down. 

"You know, it may look unhealthy, and even a little disgusting, but this stuff is truly fabulous," Rory mumbled between bites.

"I'll second that," Tristan agreed. "You know, Rory, this is the most bizarre night I've experienced in quite a while. I mean, I'm sitting here eating prepackaged crap with a girl who truly hated me ten years ago, and we only just met again."

"I never 'truly' hated you. You just really got on my nerves, and you were a bit of an arrogant prick most of the time."

"Well that's to be expected of a guy with a life like mine. But that's no excuse. I was just a horny teenager looking for the next best thing and every time I turned around, there it was challenging me to a duel. I'd like to think I've changed."

"You really have, or you so would have been gone an hour ago." With that, they sat in a comfortable silence as they finished. Just as they moved to put their dishes in the sink, the phone rang. "Give me a minute, will you," Rory said as she headed down the hall to her bedroom, the only place she had installed a phone in so far. "Hello?" she answered as she flung herself across her bed.

"Hey Ror, what's up?" The familiar voice belonging to her roommate asked.

"Not much, how's the Philippines?" 

"Pretty humid, really disgusting, but isn't NYC just as gross? How goes the move?"

"It went okay, the movers were really great about getting everything upstairs, but there are boxes everywhere. I really resent that you're staying in a resort while I unpack your crap, mister."

"I'll unpack your crap?" he offered.

"Too late for that. So, when are you coming home?"

"I think Wednesday, why, do you miss me or something?"

"Of course," she replied sarcastically. "You're Dad called, he wanted to know how you were, so I told him you were tarred, feathered and nailed to a flagpole for crimes against the natives."

"Sounds about right. Listen Ror, I can barely hear you anymore, so I better go. See you at the airport Wednesday, probably four-ish?"

"I'll be there with bells on."

"You better not be."

"Haha, I love you."

"Love you too kiddo, see you in a couple of days." Rory replaced the receiver, then thought over what she had already told Tristan. Had she really only said that he was her roommate? It seemed that she had, but he was much more, had been for about five years. What is Tristan thought something else, like that Rory was single and available.

Holy Hell, she thought, what if he thought she was interested in him?

~*~

TBC Please, R & R


	3. Empire Diner

Everything's Not Lost

- Guinevere - 

A/N: Come on, send me a review guys. I don't know if I even like this story yet, so offer some suggestions, okay? : )

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, don't want to.

~*~

Ch Three: Empire Diner

Rory made her way back to the living room where Tristan was flipping through a pile of photographs she had left on the coffee table. She couldn't decide what to do about the maybe-situation she may or may not be in. If she said something about her boyfriend/ roommate, she might offend him, or make him think that she thought that's why he was there. But if she didn't say anything, she might end up leading him on. She finally decided the safest route was number two, and she would just let things go back to the way they were progressing before the phone call.

Tristan held up a picture of Rory and Dean at Rory's debutante ball. "You actually went to one of these?" He asked. "And you took 'Bagboy' with you?" 

"Dean," Rory began, ready to let him have it, but he cut her off with:

"I know, I just couldn't remember the guys name. Sorry."

"Forgiven. Anyway, yes, I went to one as a courtesy to my grandmother, and never did it again."

"Wow. The things I never knew about Rory Gilmore," Tristan said wistfully.

"Hey, there's a lot you never knew about me. A whole lot."

"Then tell me. Like who is this guy?" He held up a worn, folded photo of Rory and Jess in a sleigh. 

"That's Jess. He was my boyfriend after I broke up with Bag- I mean Dean." No need to mention any more than that, she reasoned.

"And what about that famous mother of yours. She really didn't like me very much."

"I think you may have symbolized everything she ever hated about rich, spoiled private school kids."

"Yeah, probably. Does she still, what, run an inn? If I remember correctly."

"The one she managed actually had a fire, so she bought her own with one of her friends. It did so well, she handed the reins over to her deputy a few years ago, and she moved here with my step-dad to open a Williams' Hardware."

"Isn't that the diner/restaurant on Broadway and 53rd? I love it there. Greatest coffee east of Seattle. Wasn't there one in your hometown?"

"Yeah, the original. My mom married the guy who owned it and convinced him he should franchise. She meant maybe a little closer to Hartford or New Haven, but you plant a seed in Luke's head, and that thing just grows until it's as big as it can possibly get, but that's a good thing I guess."

At this point Tristan glanced down at his watch and noticed that it read 7:30. "Wow, sorry to cut out on you, but I've got to be in court in the morning and I'm about half ready. We should do this again sometime, Rory."

"Yeah, we should. It was fun."

"Yeah, it was. So, I'll see you later then, seeing as we are neighbors."

"You certainly will," Rory followed him toward the door. "Good night and good luck tomorrow," she called as she shut the door behind him. Suddenly, their last meeting entered her head, specifically what Tristan had said. 'I'd kiss you goodbye, but your boyfriends' watching.' She had to wonder if that may still be true.

~*~*~

Tuesday afternoon Rory had taken a run through Central Park. A good hour of sweeping out her mind, thinking clearly as the cool breeze rushed by. After her run, she sat down on a bench near The Lake and admired the view. Who should happen along, in all his lanky yet strong and confident glory, but Tristan who himself had obviously just ran for quite a while.

"Hey Rory. Don't take this personally, but I didn't really take you for the athletic type," he said as he sat next to her and retied his sneaker.

"Well," Rory laughed, "I'm not really, but sometimes I just like to go for a run."

"Ah, I see. This is a great place to clear your mind. It's like an island of calm serenity in the dead center of a storm of bustle and stress."

"My thoughts exactly. Hey, I've got to get home to finish an article, and it looks like you just started, so I'll let you get back to it, okay?"

"Sure. But, uh, Rory, are you busy later tonight?" He figured he might as well have some fun after the past two days he had had. 

She thought about his question, looking for any sort of implications behind his invitation, but he looked genuine enough. "After I finish, I should be all clear. Why, what did you have in mind?"

"There's this diner, the Empire Diner, and though it's not as good as Williams' and it is certainly no macaroni and cheese, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me."

"Sure, sounds great. How's eightish sound?"

"Good for me. See you then." With that, he stood and took off running, and Rory turned toward home. 

~*~*~

Rory had finished her article, submitted it and then gotten in the shower. At seven she was standing in her half-unpacked closet, trying to decide what to wear. This wasn't a date, of that she was sure, but it also wasn't vegging out with Lane. She decided on her favorite pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Prepared to leave whenever Tristan arrived, she settled down on the couch and turned on the tv. Ten minutes into a rerun of Will and Grace, the phone rang. 

Rory searched through the cushions until she found the cordless and answered. "Hello?"

"Hey baby, what's happening?" It was her boyfriend, laughing the entire time he said this.

"I thought you weren't going to try to call since the reception is so bad," he had told her this when he called late last night.

"The weather cleared up, so I thought I'd try it out. Do I sound okay?"

"Sounds good to me. But are you getting a cold?"

"I think so.. So what are you up to this evening?"

"Well you know I told you about Tristan a long time ago?"

"Yeah, the Bible Boy. The one you hated but secretly loved."

"Your interpretation, not mine. Anyway, he is our neighbor. He was here last night when you called the first time, and tonight we're going to check out this diner he knows."

"Oh, sounds like fun. Well, you always liked the bad guys." He could barely conceal the concern in his voice, Rory noted.

"Well, maybe I did like them, but I love you," Rory reassured him.

"I know, I know. But enough of this sad love story. You, go have fun, but don't forget to pick me up tomorrow afternoon."

"I won't, don't you worry. Bye."

"Bye Ror. Love you."

Rory hung up and dialed her mother's cell phone. After two rings, the voice mail picked up. "Hi Mom, it's me, Rory, your daughter. Hope you aren't somewhere tied up, just beyond reaching distance of a steaming cup of Columbian dark roast. Call me back. Luke, if you get this, will you remind her please? Thanks guys, bye."

Rory placed the phone on the end table and leaned forward to get the remote. After twenty minutes of one of her favorite episodes of Boston Public, there was a knock on the door. "Coming." she called, grabbing her jacket. "Hi Tristan, she said as she opened, locked and shut the door.

"Hey. So I hope you're ready for a food fest 'cause this place is great. The only catch is, you have to eat breakfast food, 'cause that's what they are known for." Tristan held the elevator door and pressed the 1.

"Where is it exactly? I've never heard of it before."

"Way down in Chelsea, but if we go straight down on the C train, it shouldn't take any more than twenty minutes."

"Good, 'cause I'm starved." The two stepped out of the elevator and exited their building. "So Tristan, tell me something about yourself. You, after all, know a lot more about me than I do about you."

"What is there to tell? My family is a veritable laughing stock, although in Society, they're pretty normal. I work in a job I hate in one of the family companies. I live a rich man's boring life."

"It can't be all that bad. What do you do exactly?"

"I'm a lawyer for my uncle's firm. But do you want to know what I really want to do?"

"What's that?" she asked as she took a seat on the subway they had just boarded.

"Work for something like Legal Aide or a nonprofit. This may sound stupid, but you know that show like six years ago or something? The Guardian? I want to be like him. Not just wasting away practicing corporate law for the rest of my life, but actually making a difference."

"So why can't you?"

"Because it's not what's expected of me. I'm supposed to be the trophy son, lord knows no one else can be."

"So defy all preordained destinies set forth by your family and go for it."

"It's not that easy Rory. I'm holding on in my family by a thread as it is. I think I may be the only sane one left."

"Are they really that bad?"

"My father is sixty-five, and his fourth wife of only three months is pregnant - did I mention that she's only thirty-seven? I have a one-year-old brother and a three-year-old sister, both from his third wife, and a ten-year-old sister from his second wife, not to mention my forty-four-year-old sister and I from his first. My mother and father were married happily for thirty-five years, until she went berserk and he cheated on her with his soon-to-be second wife. My uncle won't promote me directly to Deputy Senior Partner because of a vendetta he has against my father, who in turn wants to "take care of the situation." Yeah, they are 'that bad.'"

"So they are. But screw them, Tristan. I never thought you of all people would be one to give in to something you didn't want to do."

"Military school, enough said."

"Yeah, but you had no choice back then. Now, you do."

"I suppose you're right, but Rome wasn't built in a day. There's nothing I can do about any of this tonight, so why don't we just have a good time and thoroughly stuff ourselves."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

They sat for a moment, then the train lurched to a stop. Tristan offered Rory his hand and they both stood. "Let's go have some fun Mary," he said as they exited and headed up to the street.

"Hey Tristan?" Rory glanced at him sweetly.

"Yeah?"

"Please, don't call me Mary. You know, it really spoils it," though she said this sternly, she flashed him a smile as she finished.

"You got it Mary."

The two headed down Twenty-Second Avenue for an evening of scrambled eggs and French toast as the sun set before them. They painted a perfect portrait of the typical New York couple in early spring. Too bad they weren't a couple.

~*~

Yeah, so R&R, please. Should I continue??


	4. Sparks

Everything's Not Lost

- Guinevere – 

A/N: So thanks for the reviews, and all that. I hope you like it, and please, tell me if you don't.

Disclaimer: As if.

~*~

Ch 4: Sparks

Rory awoke the next morning to The Starting Line blasting in her ear from her clock radio. She must have forgotten to take it out last night. Ah, last night, she thought to herself. She and Tristan had talked about everything under the sun, and had stayed in the diner until way past midnight. It was there that she told him about her boyfriend/roommate and he hadn't seemed fettered in the least.

__

"So I think I should mention that I do have a boyfriend. He's my roommate, actually; I'm just so used to speaking of him as such, I forget to mention that he's also my boyfriend sometimes." Rory had awkwardly glanced away as she said this, as if feeling guilty.

"Hey, that's totally cool," Tristan replied calmly, then leaned toward her, "I'm not trying to date you this time Mary."

"Well that's a relief," Rory had sighed, then changed the subject.

But even now, she couldn't shake the feeling that he had only been putting up a front. No matter though, the aforementioned boyfriend was due back this afternoon and then Tristan would see just how much they loved each other.

Wouldn't he?

~*~

"Hi babe, I got your message," Lorelai half-screeched in Rory's ear. "Very creative."

"Well, you know I try. So Mom, where were you last night?"

"A lady never kisses and tells," Lorelai cooed.

"Ew, gross, shut up. Really, I do not need to hear such things."

"Who else am I going to tell? Sookie's not exactly just down the road anymore, and she's got three little monsters to herd around."

"Just spare me the details. Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I went out with Tristan last night." 

"As in date? Wow, what does mister-man think about all this?"

"It wasn't a date, it was a friend thing. Anyway, I told him about everything, and he was totally cool."

"Those are the ones you've got to look out for. Homewreckers, those ones."

"Mom, come on. But I know where you're coming from – I'm starting to feel a little bit like Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink, except I'm in love with Duckie and Andrew McCarthy is mercilessly chasing after me."

"You know, Duckie was always the one I cheered for, but both of them were a bit on the ugly side, even to fourteen-year-old eye."

"I was using a metaphor, not being serious."

"I realize that, but every movie has to end somewhere, always with the implication that the heroine has chosen one or the other for eternity, even if she divorces him and leaves him to raise three kids a year down the line."

"Mom, stop. I am not about to choose Tristan over the past five years of my life."

"Whatever you say. So is your man coming home today?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to meet him around four, but I'm thinking more like two."

"Bring him over afterward, we want to see him. And his birthday party is all set up, we only need you to bring the guest of honor down here Saturday night at around six, okay?"

"Yeah, but he won't want to stay all night like last year – he's got to leave Monday morning for Mt.Washington, and he'll still have to submit his Philippines article."

"How do you do it? I can barely stand it when Lukey goes overnight to Stars Hollow to check on Caesar."

"We have what's commonly referred to as a 'spiritual connection,' not just a physical one, Mother."

" Mumbo-jumbo, if you ask me. So I've got to go check on Luke in the kitchen. It's been pretty busy so far. Come down after you go to the airport."

"I will. Talk to you later."

"Bye hun."

Rory glanced at her watch and saw that it read 1:15, which was when she had decided to leave. She grabbed a sweatshirt, her keys and purse and slammed the door behind her. Not twenty-five minutes later, she found herself outside Gate 4A awaiting the arrival of flight 985.

She had brought a book with her, and turned to the dog-eared page of On The Beach where she had left off. Not much later, the voice announcing the arrival of the very flight she had been awaiting could be heard throughout the terminal. Rory looked up to watch as the passengers departed, really only interested in one in particular. She caught a glimpse of short, spiked light brown hair and started to get up, but then saw the face and realized it wasn't him. 

The last of the passengers were scurrying off toward their waiting families and Rory was just about to start worrying when she saw the Yankees hat duck through the doorway. She checked the t-shirt, his familiar 'Colorblind' navy one, and was certain. She rose and half-walked, half-jogged to meet him. He stopped and waited, but they both simultaneously realized how Hollywood they looked, and each walked slowly toward the other.

"Hey," he called as they neared each other.

"Your early," she said.

"I know, but you're here."

"Well, yeah. Someone had to be."

"I was expecting my other girlfriend, you know, the red-head?"

"Haha, you are just too cute." Rory removed the hat the seemed out of place and messed up his ever-lightening hat-head-hair.

"I know, and that's why you love me."

"You do know that we are quite sickening, don't you?"

"Yeah, I am aware of that fact," he slipped an arm around her waist and lead her toward the baggage claim.

"Which one did you take this time?" Rory asked, indicating the various duffel bags lying around.

"The green one. My 'board is sticking out of it." The two scanned the pile, and finally he located it. He pulled Rory by the hand, picked up the bag and threw it over his shoulder. "So where are we going?" he asked as the stood waiting for the train.

"I thought we'd go to Luke's; they both want to see you. You've been gone for almost two weeks, and I don't think they saw you before you left for Scotland, either."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about all this traveling."

Rory looked him in the eye now. "What about it?"

"I'm thinking of giving it up for a while. You know, maybe staying in the City, seeing what fun I can dredge up on my own 'turf."

The two stepped on the crowded subway and took the handrails above them. "That might be fun, but won't you miss jetting off at the drop of a hat?"

"Not if you won't. I miss you, and it seems like I'm always everywhere but where I want to be."

"Do you know that you are just too sweet?"

"Don't get used to it; I'm really tired right now, having been awake for the past thirty-six hours and all. But seriously Ror, I've almost finished my book, and I want a break."

"Whatever you want to do is fine by me, I'm just worried you'll get bored not having a half-pipe or raging rapids in your backyard."

"I can find things to do. I'll got to Mt.Washington, and then decide, how's that?"

"Sounds good to me. Now, we've got a little something planned for Saturday night for the big two-seven."

"Another rip-roaring party at William's Hardware?"

"Is there any other?"

"Of course not. Hell, I wait all year for one of your mother's parties. She is the supreme goddess of getting down and dirty."

"I'm going to pretend that didn't come out the way it sounded." Rory laughed and leaned into him as the train lurched to their stop. "Come on strong man, heave," Rory giggled as he struggled with is duffle and backpack.

"You could help, you know, instead of heckling on the sidelines," he said tossing her the backpack.

"I'm not heckling, young sir, I'm merely stating a fact. You know, I think you should dye your hair."

He looked to her with disbelief. "Why on earth would I dye my hair?"

"I don't know, it just looks to me like you're going to be blond when you get home next time. You're outdoors too much."

"Really, Ror, you need to get out more. You think about the strangest things sometimes. Stop worrying about my hair and go in already," they had reached the doorway to Luke and Lorelai's experiment, their baby.

Rory flung open the door and announced herself to the sparse afternoon crowd. "Mother, we have arrived," she called.

"Is that my child?" Lorelai exclaimed coming out of the kitchen with Luke in tow. "Why yes, it is, and she's brought some strange young man with her. Luke, find out who he is while I speak with my offspring."

The four headed for a booth in the back where they wouldn't disturb any of the diners. Rory slid in while he dropped his bags on the floor and moved to hug both Luke and Lorelai.

"It's good to see you," Luke said.

"Move over," Lorelai nudged Luke, "Let me have a turn." Lorelai punched his outstretched arm. "How's it going, Jess?"

"Pretty good, Lorelai, pretty good," he replied, taking a seat next to Rory.

"That's good," Lorelai said sitting down. And the four settled in to a comfortable conversation, something they always did whenever Jess came home from one of his adventures.

~*~ To Be Continued ~*~


End file.
